Aurum: A Curse Reborn
by Aetas
Summary: While seeking shelter from the weather in an old antique shop, a young girl comes across a mysterious gold medallion which sends her back centuries into the past. Will she unravel the mystery about her newfound treasure? And will she ever get home?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own any of the characters/plots from Pirates of the Caribbean. However, all other characters and plot ideas are my own.

**AURUM**

**. a curse reborn .**

**- prologue -**

The weather had seemed pleasant enough. All morning there had been nothing but sun pouring through her bedroom window, and after spending a riveting five hours doing absolutely nothing with herself, Myra Hawthorne chose to take advantage of such a nice day. Maybe she'd drop by one of her friends' house, see who was home; Perhaps she'd stop at the nearby icecream shop, treat herself to her favorite indulgence of a chocolate shake. But the option that won her over was to just go out, walk around, and see what was out there today.

Dressed in her most comfortable pair of blue-jeans (She'd had them for two years. They were ripped, stained and nearly falling apart, but she didn't care; They fit her the best.) and her favorite sweater (A gift from her grandmother) she set out down the street, trying to resist the selfish expectation that something wonderfully exciting was waiting for her just around the corner.

**- chapter 1 -**

Her steps were light and airy, almost self-confident in their gait as she walked along the noisy road. This street was always busy, always rushing with cars; People were too preoccupied with their destination to care who was in their way. There was supposedly a speed limit of thirty miles an hour, but as far as Myra could tell, no one paid this silly law any mind. Clearly to them it was little more than a mere guideline.

A chill wind broke through the warm sunlight, sending wisps of cloud over the sun, causing Myra to tug her sweater tighter. Grey eyes lifted to the sky, watching as the world around her darkened to a hazy, misty gray. So it seemed Sun had overstayed his welcome and Rain took it upon herself to shove him rudely out of the way. The heavens sent down a crackling streak of lightning and moments later bellowed with a deafening roar of thunder. Myra shivered, knowing she would have to find somewhere to wait out the storm. She was too far from home to go back now, so she might as well just take her chances... Besides, storms like this didn't usually last long. She'd be home before she knew it.

As the first drops of water fell from the clouds, Myra ducked into the nearest store. She hadn't time to see what store it was; She could only hope it was one she wouldn't mind staying in. There came another thunderous roar from outside as the rain fell down harder. Big fat drops pelted against the store window, trickling down over the glass. The shop, which ordinarily would have been quiet, was soon filled with the steady pattering of the rain. Only now did she take a moment to see just where exactly she was.

It was an antique shop. The walls were lined with furniture, their color and dignity long since faded to more subtle tones. There were bookcases teeming with tattered books, their bindings creased and cracked; porcelain figures with pale painted faces; jewelery boxes left open to reveal their tarnished treasures, showing dusty mirrors to the faces who may happen to walk by. In the far corner of the room was a little desk with a cash register, behind which sat an old and bent little man man, his face worn, weathered and wrinkled. A pair of flimsy-lookings spectacles sat upon his crooked nose, magnifying his two soft brown eyes, the kind of eyes that you can tell have seen more than their share of emotion. His gnarled hands were occupied with some odd task, perhaps fixing a broken piece of jewelery. Regardless of what he was doing, it was obvious he hadn't seen Myra enter, perhaps hadn't even noticed the storm raging outside. Turning herself away from the odd-looking elderly man, she began to paruse the trinkets and kick-knacks throughout the store.

Her eyes passed over many worthless items, dolls without limbs and books without pages, before she found anything that mildly caught her interest. Settled behind a group of flashy-looking jewelery boxes, ones with bright colors painted on their lids and jewels lining their little mirrors, was another box. But was made her so curious was the fact that it had no bright pink cover, no jewels at all. It was made of dark, cracked wood, closed with a small silver clasp. Myra reached for this little box, lifting it with both hands. She ran her fingers over its dusty lid, feeling the weathered lines of the ancient wood. She undid the delicate clasp with care, opening the box with a look of fascination. The inside was as plain and simple as the outside. It had no silk lining as the other boxes did, no little mirror for the holder to observe their new treasures. All it had inside was one single necklace. It was a simple thing, really, just a pendant on a chain. And it wasn't even very pretty. The gold of which it was made was old and tarnished, its shine and luster having disappeared many years ago. On its face was the faded outline of a skull that stared blankly up at her, surrounded by lines and markings that may have meant something once. Myra touched the necklace with care, as though fearing it might grow teeth and nip her fingertips. Her wary fingers lifted it from the box, which she closed and slid back into its place on the shelf, hidden behind the more glamorous pieces of woodwork.

For the longest time she just stared at the golden medallion in her palm, at once intrigued and almost in awe at its strange, entrancing face. When she at last glanced up from the necklace she found the old man had his eyes fixed steadily on her, watching her from behind the thick, wire-rimmed lenses.

"You're the first person to find that one, you know." The man's voice was soft, quiet, nearly impossible to hear over the pounding rain that continued to fall.

"Really?" Myra replied absently, not really knowing what he meant but too fascinated by her findings to question him.

The old man gave a shaky nod, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "Mmhmm. I've had that necklace for years. No one's ever looked at it before."

"Mm..." Once more Myra touched the golden pendant, staring at it as though her gaze would return its lost sparkle. After some moments of staring, she approached the desk, shoving a hand into her pocket and pulling out some money. "I'd like to buy it, please."

At this she received a funny look, and the man gave a hoarse chuckle. "You.. You want to buy _that_?" What he found so funny, Myra could not see. She wanted to buy the necklace. She had a right to, hadn't she?

"Yes," she replied, this time sounding a bit more firm with her tone of voice. "I would like to buy this necklace. How much does it cost?"

"Ooh, I don't know." The man shook his head, waggling a bony finger in her face. "That's no ordinary necklace y'see." Myra rolled her eyes, preparing for a long-winded story of sorts. "From what I've been told, that there necklace is real Aztec gold, it is. Once belonged to Cortes, y'see."

She nodded impatiently, shifting uncomfortably where she stood. "Wow, I didn't know -"

"It's cursed."

The man's words were followed by a long and awkward silence, broken only be a clap of thunder from outside. Myra's eyes were wide, not with fear but a strange sort of surprise, an odd uncertainty as she debated whether to take the man seriously or not. "That's... very interesting," she said hesitantly, deciding that the man's words were nothing to get worried about. "How much does it cost?"

The man gave her another funny glance, letting out a raspy sigh. "Twenty-five."

Placing the money down on the desk, she slipped the necklace into her pocket and turned to leave. Without looking back, she pushed open the door, willing to brave the wrath of the thunderstorm just to get out of that store.

"Don't you go putting that necklace on, now, d'ya hear?" The man called after Myra as she hurried out of the shop, but already she couldn't hear him. The sound of thunder and pouring rain drowned out his meek whisper of a voice. She set off down the street running, desperate to get home.


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I'm really sorry if the story is bit slow-moving, but I promise more exciting things will be happening really _really_ soon. :)

**AURUM**

**. a curse reborn .**

**- chapter 2 -**

Getting home took longer than she expected. Much longer. The rain had stopped half way through her trip across town, but by that time she was too cold and wet to really care. Her clothes were soaked through with rain, her hair a dripping, knotty mess hanging over her shoulders. Though she tried and tried to warm herself, her sopping clothes could provide Myra with no warmth, no comfort. Trying to keep herself from shivering, she hurried on her way, splashing through puddles, leaping over filthy rivers that rushed along the gutter.

After what felt like hours of walking, Myra was finally home. It was a relief to see that neither of her parents had returned just yet, so she would luckily be able to skip explaining what caused her to be in such a pathetic state. She jammed her key hastily into the lock, shoving open the heavy wooden door, letting it slam shut behind her as she rushed upstairs.

- x - x - x -

One hot shower and two cups of hot chocolate later, Myra sat on her bed in her room, wearing her most comfy pajamas and curled up in the warmest blanket she could find. In her hands was the necklace, polished to the very best of her polishing abilities, but, though it's sad to say, her abilities were close to non-existant; The medallion was as tarnished as ever. She sighed as she stared at the golden skull, observing the haunting way in which it seemed to gaze back at her. Myra held the necklace close to her face, as if observing it with more scrutiny would help remove some of the mystery it held.

Still holding onto the necklace, she shoved off the blanked from around her and crossed the room to stand before her dresser. A mirror sat atop the bureau, and would prove much more useful than any of the cracked and dusty mirrors back at the antique shop. Though she never really planned to wear this necklace regularly, a tingling curiosity was eager to see how it would look around her neck. She struggled for several moments, fighting with the stubborn clasp, before she was able to get in on.

She ran her finger along the cold chain, letting her fingertips gently brush the golden face of the grinning skull. Myra stared at her face in the mirror, carefully observing the two pale gray eyes that gazed back at her, the limp mouse-brown curls that hung over her shoulders. The jewelry that now rested on her chest looked far too out of place among her run-of-the-mill features, and yet at the very same moment seemed to fit right in. There was just something about the odd little treasure that seemed to complete the reflection Myra was now seeing.

From downstairs she heard a jingling of keys and the slamming of the front door.

"Myra?" It was her mother. "You there?"

"Yeah," Myra called back, starting towards the door. "Just a second." She hid the medallion beneath the top of her shirt; She'd rather not explain the story behind it. One last glance was cast towards her reflection before she rushed through her bedroom door and started down the stairs.

- x - x - x -

Her alarm clock blazed the time in bold black letters: 11:30 PM.

Myra was just crawling into bed, tired and aching from a very, very long day. She still wore the necklace, having eventually forgot she even had it on. She snuggled beneath her blankets, letting out a tired sigh as her eyes closed, her heavy head flopped sleepily against the pillow. As she drifted off towards slumber, she almost thought she heard the rushing of ocean waves, thought she could smell the saltiness of the brisk sea air.


	3. Chapter 3

**AURUM**

**. a curse reborn .**

**- chapter 3 -**

She coule hear the rushing of ocean waves, could smell the saltiness of the brisk sea air. A gentle breeze whispered over Myra's face, softly coaxing her from a peaceful sleep.

Her eyes opened. All around her was a deep, inky darkness. She was outside, it seemed, but the moon and stars were covered with a blanket of cloud. There was no light to guide her. She couldn't see. . . Couldn't tell where she was. What happened to her room? Instantly she told herself that she'd had a crazy dream and had walked outside in her sleep. Did that explanation make sense? Of course not. But what else do you tell yourself when you wake up somewhere as strange as this?

Myra stumbled to her feet, still half asleep. Part of her mind was telling her she'd wake up right about now, the more _rational_ part. But, of course, that thought was entirely wrong, as there was absolutely nothing rational about this situation at all. Beneath her bare toes she could feel a damp wooden floor. To her right was a railing, the wood smooth and elegantly polished. Reaching out with her left hand she discovered a wall and she ran her fingers over its painted surface. She groped her way along in the darkness, her arms outstretched at her sides, and she continued in this manner for some time, only stopping when the banister came to an end. Her left hand felt a crack in the wall, and she followed it carefully with her fingertips, hoping... Yes! Feeling the cold metal hinges beneath her fingers, she was glad to say that she had found the door, perhaps the way out of this bizarre place. Myra fumbled about for several moments more, searching for a doorknob, but instead found a small metal latch. This she lifted hastily and she shoved the door open.

The light stung her eyes as she came into the room, but she soon adjusted to the dim, flickering lantern light. When she was finally able to see where she was, she found that she was in more trouble than she could possible expected. There were three men inside the room, each one looking very bewildered. One was seated behind a wooden desk, quill in hand, holding a yellowed piece of parchment. The two others were standing on either side of him, one standing with his arms crossed and the other leaning against the side of the desk. Not one person blinked; Each felt as though they were staring at something that couldn't, _didn't_ exist.

_What strange clothes..._ Myra thought, noticing their brown, knee-length breeches, their black buckled shoes and their flowing, heavily embroidered coats. And of course, she couldn't help noticing their wigs. Two wore wigs of powdery white hair, the third man wore one of brown. Only now, thinking of how oddly the men were dressed, did Myra realize just what _she_ was wearing. She was in her pajamas, a lovely little outfit consisting of a tanktop a size too small and red flannel pants a size too big. Needless to say, she was feeling rather exposed.

So there they all were, staring at each other as though the person they were looking at was an alien from outer space. No one said a word for what felt like a very long time, until the seated man cleared his throat, adjusted a pair of spectacles settled precariously on the bridge of his nose, and spoke.

"Er. . . May I help you?" There was a pause. "Miss?" Apparently he had some trouble deciding whether the polite term should have been used or not. Apparently Myra didn't look like much of a lady at the moment.

"Umm. . ." Could he help her? She doubted it. She wanted to ask where the hell she was and just what was going on, but judging from the way he'd looked at her when she stumbled into the room, Myra figured he was just as clueless as she was. "Yes. I would, um. . . Like some clothes, please."

The spectacled man gave a nod. "Henry," he said, glancing up to the brown-wigged man beside him, "get the girl some proper clothes."

"Yes, sir," came the reply, and the man (Henry, she now knew he was called) left the room.

Myra, unable to help observing such a detail, realized that these men were British. In reality, there was nothing wrong with that at all. They were British. It was no big deal right? Though Myra would have loved to say that the fact that they had such an accent was no big deal, she feared that it was one after all. She was supposed to be in America, so where was she now?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Henry's return.

"I'm sorry," he said, holding in his arms some raggedy looking clothes. "This is all I could find."

They seemed good enough to her, or at least for now. Myra took the bundle of clothing with an appreciative smile, holding it in front of her as she once more wished she'd had on a more well-fitting shirt.

"Will there be anything else?" However confused the man may have been, he seemed concerned enough for Myra to be willing to help with her predicament. She just wished she could figure out exactly what that predicament was.

"Yes. You see. . . I need to be taken to New York." Her voice was firm enough, but a tremor of uncertainly shook in her tone. Whatever sort of confident show she put on, she was as far from confident as was possible.

The three men exchanged confused glances, then looked at Myra as though she had sprouted another head. The man who had been leaning against the desk, the other one with the white wig, gave her an amused grin.

"Yorkshire, you mean?" He appeared to give a slight chuckle, as if in appreciation of some sort of joke.

Myra stared at him with a blank expression, looking as though she was waiting for someone burst out in hysterics, telling her how gullible she was to fall for such a prank. But no one did. Once more everyone's features contorted with confused.

"Um, nevermind." Myra was not about to start on any explanation. Apparently wherever or whenever she was, New York did not yet exist. "Look, could you just drop me off at the nearest port?"

Once more the men looked at one another. Henry shrugged, the second white-wigged man raised a brow, and the spectacled fellow let out a sigh.

"Very well."


	4. Chapter 4

**AURUM**

**. a curse reborn .**

**- chapter 4 -**

The next twenty-four hours dragged by like days. Gray clouds hung low over the ocean and a warm mist was suspended above the water. There was a fair breeze tugging at the sails, and the ship would rock gently with the waves. This odd, stomach-churning rhythm took some getting used to. So much getting used to that Myra threw up several times before she grew even the slightest bit accustomed to its nauseating motony.

Myra was no longer wearing her pajamas. You can be sure she changed out of them the first chance she got. Being on a ship full of men while wearing nothing but PJ's was not exactly the most pleasant experience she'd had. Though her new clothes were quite an improvement, they were the most uncomfortable things she'd ever worn in her life. They were old, smelling heavily of damp and tobacco. In no way were they intended to be a woman's clothes, having belonged to one of the crew members, and they fit Myra very loosely; The shirt's shoulders sagged and the pants nearly fell down when she walked. She had been given a vest to wear over the shirt, which was fastened all the way down with fat brass buttons, reaching almost to her knees it was so big. Though she'd never admit it, Myra knew she looked absolutely stupid.

The following evening found Myra up on the deck and leaning against the ship's wooden railing, staring blankly out to sea. The sky had still not cleared, and for another night the moon would not be seen, with rain seeming to be on the way. Myra had spent the last several hours, pondering her current situation. Though she tried and tried, she just could not figure out what exactly she was doing here, let alone how she got here in the first place. For a long time she had herself convinced that all this was a dream, that she'd just take one last look around and then wake up, just like that. But everything was too real to be a dream. She felt the ocean breeze too strongly against her face, heard the rush of waves too clearly as they lapped up against the boat. . . Felt seasick too violently and painfully. All this was real, she decided. But how? That question, unfortunately, she had not yet been able to answer. Several times the captain had questioned Myra his inquiries not all too different than the ones she had for herself, but she had not been able to answer them, however much she wished she could.

The creaking of floorboards signalled the passing of several crewmembers. On the whole the men were kind to her, being as understanding as was possible, but no matter how hard they tried to accept this strange girl there were still whispers about Myra that passed among them. One such whisper passed between the men as they walked by, but just what it was they were saying Myra could not make out.

In a few moments, the deck around her was once again silent save for the rushing noise of the waves and the groaning of the ship. Myra tugged at the metal chain around her neck, lifting the golden medallion so it rested in her palm. Deep in the back of her mind something said to her that this odd looking piece of jewelry was, in some way, part of the answer she was looking for. Oh, but that's absurd, she told herself. It just wasn't possible. Just wasn't.

The sound of boots against the wooden floor brought her away from her thoughts and she once again concealed the necklace beneath her shirt as she looked up.

"Miss Myra?"

It was Henry.

Miss Myra. . . She liked the way that sounded.

"Yes?"

"We'll be arriving in Tortuga in just a few hours."

"Tortuga?" Wherever it was they were stopping, it didn't sound all that wonderful. But it was too late to add specifics to her request. She had asked for the nearest port, so that was what she got.

"Yes, Miss Myra. Tortuga."

**A/N: Just a short little chapter before things really start happening. Sorry to keep you guys waiting for the excitement, but it's on the way, I promise!**


	5. Chapter 5

**AURUM**

**. a curse reborn .**

**- chapter 5 -**

**A/N: Okay, before I continue, let me just explain that this story takes place not too long after the first movie. The second movie hasn't happened yet. Just saying this to avoid confusion.**

The captain refused to bring the boat up to the dock. At the time, Myra couldn't understand why, though in just a few minutes she would be entirely sympathetic. If she were captain of a ship, she wouldn't association with a place like this either. Unfortunately, Myra was to realize this in a most difficult and unpleasant way.

Several men hesitantly offered to take a longboat and row their departing company safely to the shore, and Myra had no choice but to accept. The short trip to the docks was a painfully awkward one. She couldn't quite determine exactly what was passing through the men's thoughts, but something told her they were eager to get rid of this odd young woman who'd appeared on their ship out of thin air. In all honesty, she couldn't quite blame them. If some random person dropped in her house out of nowhere and took her clothes, she'd be a little weirded out, too.

The rowboat finally pulled up alongside the wooden dock. Myra gave the men a polite 'thank you,' a quick 'good-bye' and stepped out of the boat.

Taking her first steps onto solid ground made her feel like a toddler just learning to walk. After a full day on a ship, an experience she'd never before had to endure, she no longer had the same 'land legs' that she used to. Myra stumbled and tripped for several minutes before she was able to walk without wobbling all over the place as though she were drunk. She walked along for some time and soon noticed that many other people were walking in that wobbly fashion. Well, that was because they actually _were_ drunk.

Myra always thought first impressions were important. So as far as first impressions go, Tortuga made an awful one. Everything around here was just so. . . Disgusting. There wasn't a single man around her that didn't have a rum bottle in his hand or a woman on his lap. Next time, she told herself, when you say 'nearest port' be sure they understand that Tortuga doesn't count. This place, Myra decided, is Hell.

While carefully making her way down the chaotic streets of the town, Myra received many odd looks, which she could almost understand. She was dressed in a man's clothes, and ones that were quite a bit large for her. Odd looks were expected. Of course, that wasn't to say she didn't mind them. Myra hated to be stared at, and too many times she thought some of the men's eyes were wandering towards the wrong places. Luckily many were too drunk or too occupied with other women to pay her much mind. Once or twice, however, some particularly daring men had grabbed hold of her hand or sleeve, talking to her as though she were just another prostitue ready to give herself away. After some struggling she'd been able to push them away, sending them off in search of more willing prey.

And so Myra went along her way, minding her own business, trying her hardest not to look _too_ repulsed by what she saw. Before long her mind began to wander, once more trying to answer those questions. Why was she here? How did she get here? Then a new question wriggled its way through her thoughts: Would she ever get home? Now that opened a whole new can of worms, dredging up such questions as 'How can I get home?', 'When will I get home?', and 'Am I stuck here forever?'

Caught up in her endless abyss of unanswerable questions, she no longer was paying attention to where she was going. Within seconds Myra found herself sprawled painfully on the ground, the breath knocked out of her, and the world spinning and whirling beneath her. She let out a muffled groan as she struggled to her feet, only toppling over once more. A hand was put to her head, which now ached terribly, and she tried to figure out exactly what had just happened. A few moments' inspection revealed the situation, not to mention her utter stupidity. Sitting beside her was a bedraggled, scruffy looking man. He wore fancy looking clothes, like the ones she saw those three men wearing the night before, but the coat's deep navy hue was dirtied and faded, his shirt stained and torn. His hair was long, and though some was tied back out of his face much of it hung in limp, greasy strands over his cheeks. A stubble of a beard was visible on his chin and the sides of his face, adding to his dirty, grimy look. He stared at her with sad, hollow, unblinking eyes, as though he were looking through her rather than at her.

"Are you alright?" the man inquired politely, though he didn't seem to be overly concerned. Still, he was kind enough to make sure a girl who had just tripped over him wasn't hurt.

Myra gave a weak nod, though she felt on the brink of tears. But this was not at all out of pain. After everything she'd been through in the past twenty-four hours, this was not what she needed. Any minute now she feared she would burst out in hysterics, completely and utterly overwhelmed by everything. But, thankfully, she kept her composure for the most part.

"Yes," she finally replied once she felt sure she would not simply start crying. This answer seemed to satisfy the man, who looked away, saying nothing more. But Myra would not let him get away that easily, oh, no. She needed help, and this was her very first opportunity to get any. At least the kind of help she needed.

"Please," she said, sounding almost frantic as she fumbled with the chain around her neck, "could you tell me anything about this?" Myra showed the man what was hanging from the chain, practically shoving the medallion in his face. He took a long look at it, his eyes widening as something in the back of his mind seemed to snap into place. But the surprised expression, as quickly as it had come, disappeared just as fast. He turned away once again, giving her a simple "No" as his answer.

Myra could feel her heart sink right down to her toes. She hesitated for a moment, then decided that she wasn't going to give up just yet. She needed answers, and she was going to get them in whatever way she could.

"Then do you know of anyone who can?" Myra stared at him with wide, pleading eyes, silently begging him to at least try and point her in one direction or another. If she had at the very least a general idea of where to start she wouldn't feel so helplessly lost. The man gave an annoyed sigh before lifting his hand and pointing down the road.

"There's a pub over there. You should find the help you're looking for."

"But how will I --"

"Oh, don't worry. _He'll_ find _you_."

- x - x - x -

From outside Myra could hear a great deal of commotion coming from inside the crowded bar, but when she opened the door the chaos was nearly overwhelming. From every corner of the room came shouts and yells and wild laughter; People were swaggering and swaying all over the place, dizzied with excitement and liquor. Myra meandered through the crowded pub, every so often being knocked into by some stumbling drunk. One such person bumped into her so roughly that she was sent flying sideways. She tried very hard to keep her balance, but merely tripped over her own feet and went tumbling backwards, tumbling straight into another man's arms. Apparently he'd seen Myra lose her balance and kindly steadied her. At least she _hoped_ it was a kindly gesture. Had another man stepped forward to help her, his intentions may not have been so innocent as just wanting to help her back to her feet. Yet however well the action was meant, Myra was not comfortable with someone putting his hands on her. She quickly pulled herself away, turning to see who it was that come to her aid.

She hadn't meant to stare. Really. She just didn't know what else to do. The man just stood there, looking at her with an odd, crooked sort of grin, one Myra wasn't quite sure she trusted but one she found just. . . Irresistable? She wasn't quite sure what the feeling was, but something said to Myra that this man was important to her, important to finding those answers she so desperately needed. She didn't, however, understand just how he'd be able to help her. He had a rough sort of look, a feeling about him that you weren't fully sure you could trust. But his eyes coaxed you into trusting him, no matter how you tried to resist. His hair fell down past his shoulders, some pieces beaded or braided, and wrapped around this head was a dirty red bandana. Over this was an old three-cornered hat, which rested at a lopsided angle over his eyes. A dark coat covered most of him, falling down past his knees. With his odd clothing and odd expression, Myra at once told herself that she was not to put any faith in him, that she should turn around right there and not look back. But then came the inescapable thought that maybe this is who she was looking for. Could he be? It didn't seem very likely, although she had to admit it was quite possible. She continued to stare, unable to make up her mind, looking at him with uncertainty.

"Just thought you were needing a bit of help, love." The smirk didn't once leave his face. Myra blinked once or twice, making sure he wasn't going to try anything he shouldn't. When he stayed as he was, Myra snatched this golden opportunity she was presented. She only hoped that this was the right man.

"Yes. I, um. . ." She hesitated. And what if this wasn't him? Wasn't who she was looking for? Well, it didn't really matter, did it? If he didn't turn out to be who Myra hoped he was, then he'd be someone she could cross off her list so she could continue on her way. "Please, what can you tell me about this?"

Myra took the medallion from around her neck, holding out to him in her palms. He looked at the necklace for a long moment, his face twisted with shock, confusion, and other feelings that she couldn't quite place. When the man at last looked back up at her, he merely shook his head.

"There is nothing to tell." But oh, there was. His expression told her what she wanted to know: He was just the person Myra was looking for.

The man turned to walk away, but Myra wasn't giving up, not now. She felt closer to those answers than ever, and this was the man who was going to help her find them. She reached out and took his sleeve in her hand, giving it an urgent tug.

"Don't tell me that! You know what this is," she said, no longer caring about making a fool of herself as she held the necklace in front of his face, "and you're going to tell me what I need to know."

At this, he turned around to face her once more. Myra loosened her grip on his coat sleeve, letting her hand fall down beside her. He looked at her, his eyes staring straight into her own, threatening and dangerous.

"And what makes you think," he practically whispered, taking a few steps towards Myra, "that I can help you?"

"I _don't_ think you can help me." Myra stared right back at him with confidence she never knew she had. "I _know_ you can."

He took another good look at her, probably wondering if she really was worth helping. Was she? Well, why wouldn't she be? Don't kid yourself, Myra, she thought bitterly. You're just a girl, just a nobody asking a perfect stranger for his help.

"I'll tell you what you need to know." So he was giving in? Myra felt a burst of triumphance confidence rush through her. "But after that you're on your own. Are we clear?"

Myra couldn't help the smirk the tugged at her lips. "Absolutely."

**A/N: I'm not sure what I think of this chapter. I just hope that it all makes sense. And I hope you've all been able to guess who it was that Myra found. ;) **


	6. Chapter 6

**AURUM**

**. a curse reborn .**

**- chapter 6 -**

Without another word, the man motioned to Myra to follow as he turned to leave the pub. Myra indeed felt some relief, glad to get out of this repulsive place, but was only to find the world beyond the tavern walls was no better.

The streets outside were as wild as ever. Coming from a modern (meaning 21st century) and fairly wealthy neighborhood, Myra was once again shocked by what she saw. When first setting foot in Tortuga Myra had a definite mission and that was what guided her. There had been no time to stop and look around. Now, partly on her way to untangling the twisted mystery she'd been caught in, Myra found herself more free to really look at the town around her. Once more she noticed the grotesque amounts of women putting themselves on display, but she also so how absolutely insane this place was. Men were busy hanging others out of windows, punching each other in the face or shooting someone's brains out. A lovely sight? No, not really.

After some minutes of what felt like aimless wandering, Myra was getting impatient.

"Where are we going?" she asked, nearly shouting to be heard over all the commotion.

"Somewhere quiet," was her answer, and that was a destination she doubted they could ever possibly reach.

They turned down this street, ambled up another, only to turn in the direction from which they had just come. Not only was Myra thoroughly confused, but she was beginning have her doubts about the man she was following. Was he really trying to help? Well, she knew he wouldn't really _try_ to help her, but she could no longer tell whether he really was able to. Was she just here to serve his selfish needs?

When he did at last come to a stop Myra was half convinced she should just turn and run in the opposite direction, but she was far too determined and far too desperate. She couldn't give up. Not now.

They'd arrived in a dark, smelly alleyway. Heaps of refuse were piled up along the sides of the buildings, the odor unpleasant and overpowering. But the place was quiet for the most part, though in the distance one could still hear drunken shouts and frantic yells.

"Now," the man said, looking at Myra carefully, "why don't you tell me how you came upon that necklace."

Myra hesitated. What could she say? That she found the necklace in an antique shop and when she put it on it sent her four hundred years into the past? Something told her that the truth was not something he'd believe.

"I don't think that was part of our agreement." Good. Avoid the question. Right. "Now why don't _you_ tell _me -_" she took the medallion from around her neck and held it out in front of her, "- what's so special about this."

The man gave a defeated sigh, taking the necklace in his hands.

"This," he began, staring at the tarnished medallion, "is one of eight-hundred and eighty-two pieces of Aztec gold, gold that _should_ be in a chest at the bottom of the ocean." He gave her a shifty-eyed glance, turning the coin over in his fingers. He took a few intimidating steps in Myra's direction, dangling the medallion in front of her face. "Now I will ask you again. Just how was it that this ended up in your posession?"

Myra looked up at him timidly, her confidence slightly shaken. Still, she was not going to give in to him. She pursed her lips tightly, her eyes meeting his without fear or apprehension. Myra gave him the most threatening look she had in her as she said, "You aren't here to ask me questions. You're here to answer mine. I'm asking _you_ again-" she pulled the necklace from his hand, holding it tightly within her own, "- what makes this so special?"

A fleeting grin touched over his lips, a soft breath of a chuckle escaping him as he stepped even closer to Myra.

"I just have one question for you." His tome was steady and solemn as he looked down at her.

"And what's that?"

"Can you trust me?"

Myra blinked, a clear expression of confusion crossing her face. "What?"

_Click._

The gunshot echoed in her ears and she could feel the cold metal of a bullet pierce her skin.


	7. Chapter 7

**AURUM**

**. a curse reborn .**

**- chapter 7 -**

Myra stumbled backwards, a gasp caught in her throat. I'm dead, she thought as she stared up at the man in front of her, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. I'm dead.

But there was no pain. No blood stained her clothes or trickled over her skin. She was, in fact, still alive.

Myra looked down at the wound in her side, only to find there was none. Any and all traces of what just happened had entirely disappeared, save for a thin trail of smoke rising from the gun. Her eyes returned to the man, who now wore the slyest of satisfied grins. Simply looking at him made Myra's stomach turn. He shot her. . . He shot her. . .

But why wasn't she dead? All reasonable thought told her that she should be in torturous agony, bleeding, falling steadily into certain death. Yet she remained on her feet, not suffering one bit.

"I just had to be sure." Myra looked up at the grinning man as he spoke, a flicker of anger igniting within her. It made her sick, the way he looked so full of himself, as though he had just made some brilliant discovery. She couldn't see what was so satisfying about all this.

"Be sure of what?" she seethed, her voice tinged with unforgiving rage.

"Of the curse." Curse? Myra blinked bewilderedly, clearly wanting an explanation. "You see," he continued, appearing blissfully oblivious to the graveness of what had just happened, "there was a curse on those 882 pieces of gold. 'Any mortal that removes but a single piece from that stone chest shall be punished for eternity.'" He seemed to know this all to well.

"Punished?" she repeated, trying her best to understand, but finding all this rather difficult to digest at once. Not only had she been trying to figure out how and why she'd been sent here to begin with, Myra now had to deal with this curse, whatever it might have been. "Punished _how_?"

All she received as an answer was a smug grin and a taunting "You'll see."

Myra frowned angrily, having expected more sufficient a reply. "And what," she asked sourly, "is that supposed to mean?" This time only a smirk was her answer, and the man's eyes lifting to the cloudy sky.

An icy wind rushed through the dark alleyway. Myra, following his gaze, looked towards the star-less sky, watching as the breeze brushed through the clouds. Another gust of wind sent the delicate wisps away from a shining crescent moon, one bright enough to send a soft, hazy light down upon the streets of Tortuga. For a long, unbearable moment, Myra tried to determine what exactly was supposed to happen. Was she supposed to shrivel up into nothing? Would she dissolve into a pile of dust? Just what kind of curse was this?

Myra looked down, not expecting to find anything about her changed. Why would she be different? There is no curse, she tried to convince herself, he's just fooling you, just fooling.

It only took an instant, though, for those hopeful thoughts to be dashed to smithereens.

Myra felt a scream form in her mouth, but no sound came. She lifted her hands in front of her face, her eyes wide with disbelief. What exactly happened to her, she couldn't say, but now in the moonlight she had been reduced to little more than rotted corpse. There was no skin on her bones and no blood in her veins. She was nothing more than a skeleton, a skeleton wearing clothes. This isn't happening, she told herself, her hands shaking and her lip trembling. Myra lowered her arms from in front of her, unable to speak or even fully comprehend what was going on. Several times she tried to say something, but each time her words caught on one another, her voice seeming to have disappeared with her skin. I must be dreaming, she decided, and now she desperately tried to wake herself up. But try as she might, she kept her horrific skeletal appearance. She did not open her eyes and find herself in a warm bed back at home. The harder she tried to escape this nightmare, the more she realized that all this was real.

The man looked at her, expressionless, and gave a slight nod of his head. "We'd best get you inside."

**A/N:** Thank you for all the reviews! I'm so sorry to have left you guys with a cliffhanger in the last chapter. All will be explained, I promise:) This chapter is a bit on the short side. I tried really really hard to make the descriptions realistic, but I personally don't know how one reacts to getting shot or realizing you're an undead zombie.

Anyway, reviews are loved, as always. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Here it is! Chapter 8! It's only five months late, but it's finished. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own PoTC. I _do_ own the plot and Myra, though, thankyouverymuch.

**AURUM**

**. a curse reborn .**

**- chapter 8 -**

Myra knew his name now. The man had taken her back to the tavern, more for his own indulgence than anything, and slowly slipped into giddy drunkenness. Without the aid rum, she imagined he would have been more than happy to let her work herself out of this mess, which of course was absolutely impossible. She was stuck in the past in a pirate town with no way of getting home. And what was more, she was cursed. But after multiple drinks, Captain Jack Sparrow had explained to Myra exactly what this curse of hers entailed. She was now immortal, and when touched by moonlight she would turn into a walking cadaver. How delightful.

She and Jack sat opposite one another at one of the pub's few tables amidst a whirlwind of noise and chaos. It was suprising she could even think with all that was going on around her. Behind the messl of shouts and yells, gunshots sounded from outside and rickety horse-drawn carts clattered down the street. This whole place was just so loud.

"But I still don't understand," she grumbled, a bit aggravated with her remaining confusion. "Why do I even have this stupid curse? I didn't take this from the chest!" Myra was yelling now, partly to be heard and partly out of angry frustration, leaning on her elbows and waving the coin frantically in his face.

"What're you asking me for?" He took a deep swig of his rum, finishing what little was left in the mug. "Now, if you'll 'scuse me, I need another drink."

"No, Jack, listen to me!" Myra grabbed hold of his sleeve as he tried to stand, pulling him back into his seat. "You're the only one on this island who can help me and I you to at least be conscious."

The captain yanked his sleeve from her grip, rising to his wobbly feet. "Oh, just one more, that's all." Jack stumbled sideways, and has to grasp back of his chair so that he wouldn't fall over.

Myra rolled her eyes. "Jack, you've had four drinks already. That's enough."

Jack grinned wildly. "Oh, but you can never 'ave enough rum, darling," he slurred, waving his cup in the air dramatically.

"No, Jack, listen..." Myra wasn't going to sit back and watch her only hope of getting home drink himself into oblivion. She pulled the mug from his hands, hoping that would get him to cooperate, or at least show him that she _was_ being serious and wasn't following a drunken pirate for her health. "You have to help me." Then a brilliant idea dawned on her. "You said you would." Myra smirked inwardly. Sober, Jack had every chance of outwitting her, but slopping drunk, Myra clearly held the advantage.

Jack stared at her, searching within his memory for some proof of this. He found none, though this could easily be a result of his drunkenness. "I did not," he stated as resolutely as his condition would allow, though his slightly garbled speech didn't exactly give the imposing tone he desired. He then snatched at his mug, dancing around her as he tried to retrieve it but to no avail. "Now give tha' back."

Myra stepped away, holding the mug behind her back with both hands. "I'll give it back -" she said as Jack reached around her, but the mug still evaded his grasp, "-but only one one condition."

"Anything," Jack said with slight whimper in his voice. "Just give me back my rum!"

A wide grin spread across Myra's face and she shoved the tin cup back into Jack's hands. So he'd do _anything_?

- x - x -x -

Jack Sparrow awoke late the next morning with a terrible hangover. He had little memory of what had happened the night before; his only recollection was that of a young girl, a young girl with brown curly hair dressed in men's clothes. She had something, something important, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was. But he brushed all thought of her aside. What did it matter? He'd never see her again, anyway.

He was surprised to find himself on board the Black Pearl. Perhaps he'd returned to his ship on his own, or perhaps he'd been dragged there by someone on the crew; he couldn't remember. Apparently they'd left Tortuga, though, because all he could hear behind the low murmuring of men's voices was the soft rushing of waves and the creaking of the ship beneath him. There was no wild shouting, no drunken yelling, no raucous gunfire; All he could hear was the comforting sound of the sea.

Jack rolled out of bed with a groan, placing his hat on his head as he stumbled towards the door. The sun was intense and harsh against his eyes, and he squinted to keep from being completely blinded. It was Mr. Gibbs who saw him first.

"Morning, Cap'n," Gibbs said upon spotting him. "I was wonderin' when you'd be wakin' up."

"Morning," Jack answered, still a bit groggy from God knows how many hours of alcohol-induced sleep. He glanced briefly towards the open ocean. There was no sight of land in any direction. How long had they been sailing? "Er... How long was I asleep? Or more importantly, where exactly are we going?"

Gibbs gave him an odd look. "You don't remember, cap'n? When you got on board, you told everyone that we should head straight to Tia Dalma's --"

"Tia Dalma's?" What on earth would posess him to go there? There had to have been a good, rational reason. Perhaps he'd had one last night, but just couldn't remember. "Why?" he asked fiercely. "Did I say why?"

Mr. Gibbs was a bit taken aback, and he shook his head hastily. "No, you didn't. You just brought that girl on board --"

"Girl?" Jack was nearing the point of 'furious.' "What girl?!"

There came a screech from above the two men, and a small monkey, Jack's namesake, sailed over their heads. The little animal landed nimbly on the deck and scurried across the ship, weaving between the feet of crewmembers. He stopped only when he reached Myra, who sat on the steps up to the forecastle. The monkey leapt into her lap and fiddled curiously with the buttons on her vest.

"You... ?" Jack whispered, breathless with surprise. He crossed the ship, following the path the monkey had taken towards Myra and stared at her as though she were a ghost, a figment of his imagination. And however much he willed her image to disappear, she remained where she sat, grinning up at him with a delightful smirk.

"Don't you remember, Jack?" Myra asked tauntingly. "Don't you remember what happened last night?"

"Perhaps," Jack growled, pulling out his pistol and pointing it with every intention of pulling the trigger, "you'd like to refresh my memory."

Myra sighed and shook her head. "Put your gun away, Jack, before you make a fool of yourself."


	9. Chapter 9

**DISCLAIMER:** PotC is not mine and never will be.

**AURUM**

**. a curse reborn .**

**- chapter 9 -**

"So... Let me just get this straight." Jack was trying to be patient, but he was slowly losing his temper, and it showed. His face had a pinched sort of look, with his eyes narrowed ever so slightly and his lips pursed together in a thin line. He stood staring at Myra, practically in disbelief. "You fed me rum till I was drunk -"

"No," Myra interrupted, shaking her head, "not drunk -- Wasted. Gone. Completely plastered."

"Right." Jack gave an aggravated sigh. Clearly he was putting all his energy into restraining himself. "Then you convinced me to help you and take you to see Tia Dalma?"

"Wrong. Visiting Tia Dalma was your own idea, Captain." This answer provoked another sigh from Jack, who pressed a hand to his forehead in exasperation.

"You do know I could just dump you overboard and solve all my problems?"

Myra shook her head. "Wrong again, Captain Sparrow." From around her neck, Myra pulled the cursed medallion and dangled it tauntingly in the captain's face. "Remember this?"

In that instant, something in the back of Jack's mind clicked into place and all these little pieces of what happened the night before came together. At last, he remembered. Somehow, this young woman had obtained a single coin from the elusive treasure of Cortes, and with it she received its curse. He stared at the golden coin as it swayed gently back and forth. The skull smiled at him with an eerie, mocking grin, its two hollow eyes boring deep into his. Myra wore a similar smirk of satisfaction, as if she and this Aztec skeleton had been in cahoots all along, determined to make Jack Sparrow completely and utterly miserable. The captain gave a sigh of defeat. He squinted his eyes shut and he kneaded his forehead with his fingertips, his head now throbbing painfully from all that had happened, not to mention the effects of all the rum he'd had the night before.

"I think... I think now would be a good time," Jack said quietly, "to tell me just how you came upon that necklace."

A look of surprise cleared the smirk from Myra's face, and her expression quickly became solemn and serious. She looked away from Jack, turning her gaze instead towards the ocean. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

By no means was Jack going to back down that easily. He wanted to know why she had the necklace, how she could have possibly found it when it should have been lying deep beneath the ocean. But his questions were cut short by a call from the crow's nest.

"Land ho!" came the cry, and all eyes turned past the bow of the ship. Ahead of them was an island, an island that seemed to draw closer with each second.

"Captain!" It was Mr. Gibbs, though he didn't seem entirely overjoyed about the situation. "Should we prepare the longboats?"

Jack glanced momentarily towards Myra, who was looking expectantly up at him. However grudgingly, he heaved another sigh and answered, "Just one. This young lady and I will be going ashore alone."

- x - x - x -

The journey up the river was long, tedious, and painfully awkward. No words passed between Myra and the captain; the agonizing silence between them was broken only by the rushing sound of the oars through the salty river water and the steady hum of untainted nature in the forest around them. Myra hoped desperately that this little trip wouldn't take very long. Despite the fact that he was helping her, she didn't trust Jack Sparrow. He was a pirate, after all, and though she had little experience with pirates (for obvious reasons) she was smart enough to know that they weren't men to put your faith in. And Myra had the added risk of being a woman along with a strange man. Needless to say, she felt rather uncomfortable.

The river grew narrower as they continued on. The tall tropical trees had weaved their branches together to form a thick, inpentetrable canopy of leaves. Some light did trickle through, but the forest became darker and darker as they went deeper inside it. Animals screeched in the trees above; large birds flapped their wings noisily and swooped down over their heads. Myra jumped at nearly every little sound, for in the depths of the rainforest it seemed that even a whisper of movement was magnified into a threatening roar. Her eyes darted around nervously, but in the darkness she could see very little. Jack remained calm, his face expressionless as he rowed through the swampy waters. And still not a single word was spoken.

The boat turned around a bend in the river, and their destination drew into view. There were several run-down, ramshackle houses along the water's edge, but it was clear which one they were headed to. Myra couldn't quite tell what it was, but something in the way its lanterns flickered so invitingly, in how its door seemed to beckon to them told Myra that this particular shack was where they were headed.

Jack brought the boat up alongside a small makeshift dock, nothing more than a few boards roped together and secured by several poles secured in the riverbed. He tied the boat off and stepped out, not waiting for Myra to follow. A bit unsteadily, Myra hopped out of the rowboat and hurried after Jack who had already climbed up the worn wooden ladder up to the decrepit-looking porch. Once Myra stepped onto the porch after him, Jack whirled around and gave her a fierce, threatening stare.

"When we go inside, you're to let me do all the talking. Understood?"

Myra gave him an odd look. She wasn't sure he trusted him with that responsibility. "Why?"

Jack grinned to himself with the satisfaction of having the upper hand in this after all. "Because I'm the one who has the ship. I could easily leave you stranded here, now, couldn't I?"

However much she hated it, she had to admit defeat this one time. Myra sighed as she rolled her eyes. "Fine."

"Good." Jack pushed open the door and a soft, golden light spilled out onto them. Inside, lanterns and candles lined the walls, and some lay in odd places on tables and windowsills. All of them were lit, and their flames flickered gently, warding off the encroaching darkness. From the celing hung bottles of various shapes and sizes, but what they contained Myra couldn't quite tell. At first, it seemed no one was there. The house was silent, and Myra half expected Jack to turn and say 'Well, looks like she's not in. Let's go.' But just then, perhaps only moments before Jack would decide it was time they should leave, a woman appeared from another room. Her dirtied hand pulled back a thin, translucent curtain and she stepped out into the flickering candlelight. A smile slowly spread across her grime-streaked face, revealing a set of stained and blackened teeth. Her hair was a tangled mess of twisted dreadlocks, and it fell far past her shoulders and down her back. Her dress was tattered along its edges, spattered with dirt and mud. But despite her disheveled look, her countenance was bright, her expression friendly.

"Captain Jack Sparrow," she cooed in a thick, foreign accent. She strode accross the room in long, confident steps, grinning up at the captain with gleaming eyes. "I always knew you'd be coming back." She sidled up against him with a seductive movement of her hips, and she placed a hand delicately against his chest.

Jack, though not seeming to mind the attention, seemed slightly uncomfortable. Something in the way he smiled back at the woman said to Myra that he wasn't exactly ecstatic to be seeing her again. "You look lovely, Tia Dalma."

But her attentions had quickly moved on. With a troubled expression, she turned towards Myra, who still stood close by the door, motionless. "What are you doing here?" Though the question could have been threatening, a warning to leave, it was not said in such a way. Tia Dalma's done was worried, concerned, and spoke to Myra much the way one might whisper to a lost kitten. "You do not belong here."

Jack snorted under his breath. "I'll say..." he snickered, but Tia Dalma lifted a hand to silence him. She stepped closer to Myra, taking both of her hands in her own.

"What are you doing so far from home, child?"

Myra didn't know what to do. She'd promised Jack she would say anything, since he was her only way of getting anywhere. She looked towards him expectantly, but Tia Dalma put a hand soothingly against Myra's cheek, turning her head ever so slightly.

"How did you get here, Myra?"

**A/N: **Chapter 9 Complete! Reviewers will be loved and shall recieve waffles.


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